


The Least Of My Kind

by wearethenorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fem!Robb, Female Robb stark, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethenorth/pseuds/wearethenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(formerly 'The North Remembers')</p><p>Ice descended, a head rolled to her father's feet, and Rowan supposed there were advantages to not being the future Warden in the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song by Echo's Children

"Don't look away," Jon said as she smoothed back Bran's hair. "Father will know if you do."

Ice descended, a head rolled to her father's feet, and Rowan supposed there were advantages to not being the future Warden in the North. Her heart went out to Bran, who flinched underneath her arm.

"You did well," she assured him, rubbing his back. "Father will be pleased."

Her brother said nothing.

* * *

They had set out of Winterfell with twenty men, and returned with twenty men and six direwolf pups. Rowan smiled down at the grey one who mewled in her arms and nuzzled against the warmth of her cloak, shielding itself from the harsh cold.

"One day you'll grow," she promised it, stroking his ears softly with the leather of her gloves. "And you'll be running with this wind, not shrinking from it." By the time they reached Winterfell, Rowan had marked the pup as her own, and named him, quite fittingly, Grey Wind.

* * *

Rowan laughed when she saw Bran climbing down from the Broken Tower, a gleeful smile on his face.

"Brandon!" Catelyn chided angrily.

"I saw the king!" He said excitedly. "He's got hundreds of people!"

"And hundreds of mouths to feed no doubt!" Rowan said, and Maester Luwin chuckled.

"How many times have I told you? No climbing!"

"But he's coming right now! Down _our_ road!" The boy pouted pleadingly at his sister, who sighed and smiled.

"Mother, please, he's just having a little fun," Rowan said. "As I recall, Uncle Benjen was the same."

Catelyn sent her a chilling look.

"I want you to promise me," she said, when he had landed with a thump. "No more climbing."

Bran agreed with a frown, and Rowan snorted. "Liar," she mouthed, and Bran tried to stifle a grin.

Catelyn rolled her eyes at their antics. "Run and find your father," she said with a smile. "Tell him the king is close."

* * *

"Guests!" Sansa giggled happily. "Real life people! Here! In Winterfell!"

She rushed past Rowan, who barked something about being careful, and jumped around excitedly.

"Music and laughter and dancing, can you imagine?"

"I heard the king's bringing his guard," even Arya was talking animatedly, prattling on and on to Bran about Barristan the Bold and Ser Jaime Lannister--or the Kingslayer, as she stated dispassionately--and their great deeds as white cloaks.

It seemed only Rowan and her parents were at nerve's end, scrambling to secure last minute preparations for the feast.

Though Bran was heir, she was the eldest, and responsibility fell to her before Sansa or Arya or the boys.

Were that she were a man, Rowan sighed as she marked off the ledger. She loved both boys with all her heart, but they were just that. _Boys_. It would be years until Bran would be of age, and until then, she would act as the future lady of Winterfell.

* * *

Rowan waited for King Robert and his party to march through the gates of Winterfell looking as proud as her father. She saw Arya shuffle past her, and she caught her younger sister by the furs on her back.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, snatching the helmet from the girl's head with a frown, and handing it back to Jon, who smiled in amusement.

"You're no fun," the younger girl frowned and pushed herself between Sansa and Bran.

When the host of men from King's Landing rode through the gates to the castle,

Rowan straightened her back, trying her best to identify each knight that marched into her home.

She saw a boy of Sansa's age ride in with a man with a dog's helmet, who could only be the legendary Hound of Tywin Lannister.

His eyes flitted from her to Sansa, and then he gave her sister a charming smile.

Her father seemed to have noticed the exchange also, for the hand that was laying against his sword was suddenly holding hers with a strength that would've made her cry out had she not been half-expecting it.

The wheelhouse came next, and then she saw a knight of the Kingsguard, resplendent in white and gold armor, and finally...

A fat man on a horse.

She frowned.

This was the great king Robert? Whose exploits her father shared to her as a child when he put her to bed at night?The man her father named her for?

She kneeled when everyone else did, but she didn't miss the weary glance her father threw her way.

Suddenly, the great man was before him, motioning for him to stand to his feet. Ned did so with little hesitation, Rowan following suit, and then everyone else.

"Your Grace," her father said with a bow of his head. There was a moment of silence in which the king regarded him.

"You've gotten fat."

Rowan bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Perhaps she would like the fat man after all.

Ned raised an eyebrow, and suddenly the two were laughing and embracing as old friends.

"Cat!" He greeted her mother with a smile and a hug.

"Your Grace."

He ruffled Rickon's hair and then looked back at her father.

"Nine years," he said. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

And then he turned to her, and Rowan thought he seemed disappointed for a moment, before he gave a small smile.

"You must be Rowan," he kissed both her cheeks. "You were named after me, you

know."

"Your Grace," Rowan bowed her head. _He's disappointed I don't look like my Aunt Lyanna_ , she thought. She had heard it enough times from Old Nan. Rowan had her mother's beauty and wit, her father's gentleness and honor, and all the wisdom granted to her by years spent tucked away in the maester's tower. And though she had the Stark demeanor, the same could not be said of her soft Tully red curls and clear blue eyes.

And then he moved on to Sansa, and father gave her hand a fond squeeze.

"You did well."

Queen Cersei walked forward and offered Ned her hand.

"My queen," he placed a light kiss on her knuckles, and Catelyn bowed her head.

"Take me to your crypt," Robert said. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been traveling for over a month, my love," Cersei frowned. "The dead can wait."

Ned glanced once more at Cersei, and then followed Robert.

"Where's the imp?" Rowan heard Arya ask, and Catelyn nudged her in the side, as if daring her to laugh.

* * *

"How can you even see a damned thing like this?" Rowan complained as she sat on a railing, watching Jon hack away at a dummy.

"Shouldn't you be inside with all the others?" Jon said, agitation evident in his voice.

"Why would I be in there when I could be with my favorite brother?"

"Oh, I'm your favorite brother now, is that it?"

Rowan reeled back as if he had struck her. "What's gotten into you?"

He was silent for a moment, and then he tossed his sword in the hay and moved to embrace her.

"I'm sorry, Rolly," he murmured into her hair. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"What's wrong, Jon?" She rubbed his back comfortingly. "Is it the royal family?"

Jon hadn't been allowed to sit in the hall with them for fear of Queen Cersei taking offense at a bastard in their midst, but Rowan thought it had more to do with her lady mother.

She had fled from the hall as soon as the main course had been served, choosing to watch her natural-born brother spar in the dark rather than spend another moment in the crown prince's company. He was vile and cruel, and had made rude japes about the state of Winterfell when she had escorted him to the high table.

"Never mind, Rolly," he sighed and moved away. "You look beautiful tonight."

She smiled and slapped his arm. "I dare say you look quite beautiful yourself."

Their laughter echoed throughout the courtyard, and a serving boy ran up to the two.

"Lady Rowan, your lady mother requires your presence."

She sighed and gave Jon a kiss on the cheek.

"Go beat that dummy for me," Rowan said with a teasing smile.

* * *

"Rolly," Rickon tugged at her skirts. "I want to go to bed."

She smiled and picked him up, propping his against her waist.

"All tired out, little pup?" She asked as she stroked his hair, and he nodded softly against her shoulder.

She made to carry him from the hall as he mumbled incoherently into the nape of her neck.

"Still mothering your siblings I see."

"Uncle Benjen!" Rickon squealed, launching himself into their uncle's arms.

"Oof! You've grown, boy! Don't know how your sister can carry you!"

"Rolly's the strongest there is," the boy boasted with renewed vigor, and started to prattle off about her archery and sparring lessons.

"Uncle Benjen," she beamed and threw her arms around him. "You never visit us anymore!"

"I've got duties, little wolf, same as you. And you're getting prettier by the day, I reckon."

"Stop it," she elbowed him in the ribs softly. "If father hears you, he might go about finding me a husband."

Benjen froze suddenly, as if remembering something long forgotten.

"You sounded just like your aunt for a second there," he smiled sadly. "Hold the boy. I have yet to say hello to your father."

The celebration was well under way when the dancing began. Rowan was swept to her feet by the Greatjon first, who complained that his Lady of Winterfell hadn't danced with him since she was a wee thing, staring up at the man who was taller than even her father.

"You've grown," he complained.

"And you, my lord Greatjon," she grinned. "You've grown wider."

The lord of the Last Hearth guffawed.

"Lord Umber, may I interrupt?"

"Ned, my dear lord! As if you don't get to spend every day with your lovely daughter!"

The men around them laughed.

"Aye, a lovely girl," Ned smiled down at Rowen, who kissed her father on the cheek. "And getting lovelier by the day. Soon she'll be lovelier than me!"

She laughed with the others, for it was so rare for the somber lord of Winterfell to jape. She chocked it up to the King's presence.

"You've done wonderfully, Rowan," he twirled her about. "The feast is magnificent."

She beamed at the praise.

"Your words are kind, father, but it was not only I who put together the feast.

Mother helped as well."

He laughed and squeezed her fingers tightly, swinging Rowan around to the music.

She danced with her father twice before Ser Boros Blount asked for her hand, and time after time, she had to slap his hand away if it wandered, or put distance between them when he brought her too close, until Ser Jaime Lannister swooped in and rescued her.

He smirked down at her, as one would smile at an amusing child, but she didn't mind. Her mind was faraway with her brother, who was no doubt still out in the practice yard.

"It must be strange to you," Rowan said in an effort to breach the silence between them. "Being so far north."

Ser Jaime didn't hesitate, as if he had expected the inquiry.

"It is far colder than the south, I grant you."

She smiled at the face he made.

"Yes, it could be somewhat of a dampener. I imagine it's quite warm where you are from?"

"I was born in Casterly Rock, my lady. During the long winter, we would light fires in every room so the entire castle was warm."

It was Rowan's turn to make a face.

"Sounds sweltering. Winterfell's built on hot springs, but even I have to throw off my furs from time to time. Forgive me, ser," she gave a small laugh, which he returned with a placating smile.

"It must be true what they say then."

"Sorry? What do they say?"

"That there is ice in your veins, Lady Rowan."

She wrinkled her nose in amusement. "Ice?"

"Oh, aye, ice in the blood of all the Starks. Now, I see there is little truth to those words, for to me you are as warm as a summer breeze."

Rowan threw her head back and laughed, and many of her father's bannermen raised their tankards to her joy. The wine she had consumed had loosened her tongue, but her wit was as sharp as when she was sober.

"Pretty words from a southern knight," she said. "No doubt you would have me swooning over you like your southron maids."

"It would be nice, my lady," he conceded. "My vows, unfortunately, bind me to the Kingsguard, however."

"Ah, but it never hurts to boost one's ego. I, myself, sport a rather large one, and it inflates every time one of my father's more comely bannermen give me a second glance. However, you'll find no such welcome from me."

Ser Jaime gave her a crooked smile, which she returned.

"And why is that, my lady?"

"Northern women are far more resistant to flatteries." She leaned in close, as if to share a secret. "It's the ice in our veins."

The knight laughed aloud, and she granted him one more dance that night.

* * *

When she retired that night, with Grey Wind curled up on the pillow next to her head, Rowan dreamt of Winterfell. In her dream, five pups ran about the courtyard, howling and nipping at each other's heels as another, older wolf watched silently.

Beside the wolf, a stag with a crown on its antlers bled from a wound in its side onto the gravel beneath it. She saw the scene clearly, through glowing yellow eyes. Behind her, she heard a low growl, and when she turned, a lion pounced from the shadows, clawing at the silent wolf before grabbing a pup beneath its massive jaws and bounding out the gates.

Rowan woke with sweat dripping from her brow, and Grey Wind was staring up at her with his glowing yellow eyes.

:::

That morning, as she walked by the hall on her way to the stables, she heard whispering coming from the breakfast table. Lady Catelyn had always said that eavesdropping was rude and unladylike, but when Rowan heard her name, she scooted back into the wall and strained her ears, nudging Grey Wind softly with her foot when he looked up at her with accusing eyes.

"Lady Rowan looked positively lovely last night, did she not, Cersei? The spitting image of her mother, but she has the northmen's look about her, no doubt from the girl's father. Square jaw and all."

There was a scoff, and Rowan heard a woman's voice answer.

"A beastly thing. Not half so pretty as the younger one. She lumbers about like a giant."

"Is that jealousy I hear, dear sister?" That was Jaime Lannister's voice, different from the first speaker.

"Jealousy of what? The girl has more  length in her limbs than she knows what to do with." Rowan scowled at the queen's words.

"Oh, but I think she knows exactly what to do with them," said the first voice.

"Don't be lewd, brother."

Ah, Rowan thought. That would be the imp.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Jaime. I only meant to say that the girl is reputed to be more wolf than woman. The master-at-arms boasts that she's the finest archer in the north, and an able swordsman--er, woman--besides. Ned Stark groomed her for ladyship of Winterfell before her brother was born, as you know."

"It makes no difference," said the queen dismissively. "She will be no more the lady of Winterfell than you, little brother."

"No doubt dear old Ned is trying to sell her off to the highest bidder like some brood mare. Who do you think she'll be most suited for, Tyrion? The heir to Highgarden, perhaps?"

"I think we are underestimating the girl's willfulness. And let's not forget that her father dotes upon her constantly. I don't think I would be surprised if he lets her forgo a marriage and become a knight. Evidently the girl has the skills, and she undoubtedly acquired her father's sense of duty and honor."

Rowan pushed herself off the wall, half-annoyed by the Lannisters gossiping like fishwives, and half-awed by the Imp's assessment of her despite never being acquainted. That one, she knew she would enjoy conversing with, at least.

More than anything, she was angry at Ser Jaime, who had been so kind to her as they danced at the feast.

She had enjoyed teasing him, and being teased in turn, but now that she knew what he truly thought of her, she wished to hit something.

As if sensing the brewing storm inside her, Grey Wind let out a low growl and nudged her skirts with his snout.

"I know, boy," she sighed angrily. "Can't trust anyone these days."

* * *

 

"It's a beautiful sword, Mikken," Rowan said as she stood next to Jon in front of the forge. "Arya would love it, I'm sure."

"A beautiful sword, yes," the blacksmith replied, and then smiled kindly at her.

"But not so beautiful as our Lady of Winterfell."

Jon scoffed, but Rowan blushed prettily.

"I'm no lady, you know that," she said. "And not as beautiful as my lady mother, the true Lady of Winterfell."

It was true. Rowan was the image of her lady mother, save for her eyes, and the darker russet tone of her hair. But she was yet in the clutches of girlhood. Her cheeks were too round, her nose too pointy. She was tall and broad in the shoulders. Lanky, built for firing arrows and wielding a sword rather than sewing in a solar.

"Besides, Bran will inherit the North. I'll probably be sold of to some Southron lord or other. Or Domeric Bolton, if Lord Roose gets his way."

"Aye, that's true," Mikken turned back to Arya's sword. "But you're our lord's firstborn, m'lady. In the old days, before the dragons came, the line of succession in the North fell to the firstborn. Didn't matter what you had between your legs, beggin' your pardon."

Rowan laughed softly, and Jon smiled with her.

"A sword for the Wall?" The two turned to see Jaime Lannister walking their way.

"I already have one," Jon said, and Rowan watched as the Kingslayer glanced at the sword in Mikken's hands, barely larger than a dagger, and sharp as a needle.

"Then it's for you, my lady?"

"I already have one as well," Rowan said, smiling warily.

She could not forget her dream. Her mother had instilled in her the significance of omens, and Rowan could not help but feel that was one.

"Eddard Stark lets his eldest girl run around with a sword?"

"Begging your pardon, my lord," she said, her voice as light as the wind, though she had clearly taken offense at his words. "But I was fostered at Bear Island for four years. The women there learned long ago that those without swords could still die upon them."

"Rowan," Jon chastised, but Jaime Lannister merely laughed.

"Have you ever swung a sword?" He asked Jon.

"Of course I have," he replied, a proud smile on his face.

"At someone, I mean," and the smile fell.

"Jon and I practice out in the yard, when the weather is favorable," Rowan said, no longer as sweet to the Kingsgaurd knight as she was during the feast. "Unless you mean to ask if he's swung it at a man?"

"I didn't mean to offend," the Kingslayer inclined his head, and Rowan merely sniffed, turning back to Mikken.

"Strange thing, first time you cut a man," Jaime said, taking a step closer to

Jon. "You realize we're nothing but sacks of meat, blood, and some bone to keep it all standing."

He paused and stuck out his hand with a triumphant smirk.

"Let me thank you ahead of time," he said, grasping Jon's hand. "For guarding us all from perils beyond the Wall. Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot."

Jon tried to take his hand back, but the Kingslayer kept a firm grip.

Rowan noticed the commotion and turned around, a heavy scowl on her face.

"We're grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us," he clapped a hand on Jon's shoulder and Rowan moved forward, slapping Jaime's hand away. He frowned at her, surprised.

"Let go of my brother, Kingslayer," she commanded. "If you touch him again, I will forget that I broke bread with you at the feast, and the words we shared, and you will find yourself facing my wrath instead."

Jaime looked taken aback for a moment.

"She-wolf, indeed," he said contemplatively. "For a moment, I thought you were tamer than your aunt. Now I know. You're wilder than she ever was."

"Touch him again and you will learn why they call me she-wolf," she sneered. "You may be the queen's brother, but this is the North. We don't have the temperament for your petty Southron games. Winter is coming, and it always hits the Summer Knights the hardest."

"Is that a threat, Lady Rowan?"

"It's a promise, my Lord Kingslayer."

Jaime's smirk faltered slightly, and he backed away with his hands up.

"It was wonderful meeting you again, my lady," he said as he turned away. "And your bastard brother, as well."

Her hand on her sword was frozen stiff when Jon touched her shoulder softly in warning.

"Rolly," he mumbled. "Let's get you inside."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow great feedback! 
> 
> So for my Rowan fancast I was thinking Imogen Poots from Centurion but with dark russet hair.
> 
> This chapter's a lot shorter than the last one but that's mostly because the next one will be set a while later. Basically everything's completely canon. Somebody tries to kill Bran, Catelyn goes to King's Landing to warn Ned about the Lannisters and then arrests Tyrion and takes him to the Vale and then Bronn and him escape or whatever and then Ned gets arrested. Oh and Bran would be awake already so there's that.

Bran fell from the tower, and Rowan’s world came crashing around her.

“He never falls,” she said when her father barreled through the front gates from his hunt, having received the news from a messenger. “Father, he’s never fallen.”

He pulled her to his chest and squeezed his arms around her. “Go to Jon, sweetling.”

“Father, Bran _never_ falls.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ned pulled away and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Go to Jon, Rowan.” She cringed away from his hand when she realized he was crying as well.

 _He’s not supposed to cry_ , she thought as he brushed past her, her heart breaking with every step he took. _He’s my father. He’s supposed to hold me and tell me everything will be fine._

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jon swinging viciously at a dummy in the practice yard.

* * *

_“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”_

_“That is the only time a man_ can _be brave.”_

* * *

“You’re leaving.”

Jon sighed and threw a tunic carelessly in his pack. Rowan frowned, walked over and folded it for him before placing it gently on the bed, her hands hovering momentarily over the furs.

“I knew you were thinking about it. I thought with Bran being… I thought you might change your mind.”

“I haven’t.”

“You don’t have to go, Jon,” she furrowed her brows and looked up at him, but he merely stared down at the bed sheets, twirling them beneath his fingers.

“Got no choice.”

“You _do_ ,” Rowan insisted, grasping his hand. “You can stay here. With _me_. Are you not my sworn shield?”

“We’re not _children_ , anymore, Rowan,” Jon scowled and wrenched his hand away. “Father’s leaving; no doubt you’ll be married off soon. And where does Ned Stark’s _bastard_ son fit in all that, huh? Lady Stark will be glad to be rid of me.”

“ _Mother_ is currently at Bran’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up at any moment,” she argued. “I _am_ Lady Stark, until Bran wakes and she is well enough to leave his chambers. I _order_ you to stay.”

“For gods’ sakes, Rowan, _open your eyes_!”

Rowan startled at his raised voice.

“I am a _bastard_! I’ll get no land, I won’t marry for love, I won’t be a lord of some great keep!” He breathed deeply and clenched his jaw. “I’m going to the Wall where I’ll be of some real use. This is for _me_. For the first time in my life, I’ll be doing something for _myself_ , by _myself_ , and not because I was told to do it! And I _need you_ to respect that.”

Rowan opened her mouth to speak, ignoring the tears making their way down her cheeks, and then snapped it shut. Without another word, she turned her heel and stormed out of the door. Grey Wind trailed her with a low whine. _They’re leaving me_ , she thought. _They’ll leave Winterfell and they’ll never return._

Hurriedly, she wiped her tears and made her way to her chambers, nodding and greeting servants as she passed as if nothing was wrong. Because she was Rowan Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North, and she would endure this hardship as her forefathers had endured greater ones. She would be strong.

Yes, for the North, she would be as strong as she could be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so when i reread this i realized it's leaning towards robb/jon but that's because I made them seem a lot closer than they were in the books or the show.  
> I feel like if Robb was a girl, at one point, she would've been pushed aside when Bran was born, and she would've found companionship with Jon, the other outcast.  
> Also THEON FINALLY OMG I HAVE THE SADDEST THINGS SET OUT FOR YOU BB

"Treason?" Rowan crushed the letter between her fingers. "This letter is in Sansa's hand."

"Aye," Maester Luwin nodded gravely. "But the queen's words pour through the letters."

"Should be signed King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name," Theon said from over her shoulder. "With all the usual titles."

"A boy sits on the Iron Throne," Rowan's nostrils flared as she read through the missive once more. "An idiot boy at that. First he imprisons my father, now he expects me to journey south and bend the knee."

She felt the urge to snatch her goblet and throw it at the wall, like some child throwing a tantrum, but Rowan breathed deeply and began to pace instead.

"It is a royal summons, my lady," Luwin said, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. Rowan shrugged it off, turning to look at the direwolf tapestry on the wall.

"Ten years," she spoke softly. "Ten years we've kept the peace. No wars since Balon Greyjoy rebelled. It stood on the edge of a knife when my lord father journeyed south, and it was all for naught, thanks to this boy."

"What will you do?" Theon asked. Rowan steepled her fingers and sighed. "Maester Luwin, write to King's Landing. Tell them my brother is not fit for travel, and I do not have the heart to leave him alone in the North. Send word to my mother in White Harbour that she is to journey back south in my stead."

"Is this wise, my lady?" Luwin asked skeptically. "This may all be a trap, a ruse to ensure your cooperation."

"It is undoubtedly a trap," she breathed. “Do you remember what happened to my grandfather when he journeyed south, Maester Luwin? My uncle?”

"You should call your banners," Theon said. "March south and rescue your father and your sisters. Show them that the north will not be trifled with."

"And if Joffrey decides to take my father's head? No, now is not the time for outright defiance. But I will not stand by idly as this insult is carried out. Maester, send a messenger to White Harbour, one that you can trust implicitly. I will make the journey there with a company of my choosing, and from there we will take a ship to the south. In the meantime, call my father’s bannermen, and Jon at the Wall, as well. I must know that they will follow me in this."

"Of course. But South, my lady?"

"Aye," she grit her teeth. "I am in need of an alliance."

And she would pray to the old gods and the new that this wouldn't end as disastrously as the last times a Stark journeyed south.

* * *

She had been prepared to set out by the end of the week, unsure if Jon would answer her summons. _What if he’s already taken his vows? What if the raven was shot down, and now the Lannisters know exactly what I’m planning? What if Joffrey takes my father’s head before I can carry out my quest? WhatifWhatifWhatif—_

“For thirteen years I’ve been making corpses out of men, girl,” the Greatjon said, though not unkindly. Still, she clenched her jaw at ‘ _girl_ ’. _They think me a child playing at war_ , she realized. “I’m the man you want leading the vanguard.”

“Galbart Glover will lead the vanguard,” she said, ignoring Bran’s curious look.

Greatjon threw his head back and guffawed as if she had said something funny. “The bloody Wall will _melt_ before an Umber marches behind a _Glover_!”

Rowan rolled her eyes and slapped the Smalljon’s arm when he waggled his brows at her for the eighth time that night.

“I’ll be leading the van,” the Greatjon continued, “or I’ll be taking my men and marching them back home.”

Rowan froze, and the entire hall grew quiet when she raised her head from her steepled fingers. “You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber,” she said slowly, nostrils flaring. Rowan pushed her chair back and stood, and a low growl rose from Grey Wind. “And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker.”

She felt the Smalljon tense beside her as he looked from her to his father and then back again.

The giant jumped to his feet snarling, and half the men in the hall drew their steel.

“ _Oathbreaker_ , is it?”

Rowan narrowed her eyes.

“I’ll not sit here and swallow insults from a girl so green, her moon’s blood is _grass_!”

His hand strayed to the sword at his hip, and Grey Wind had knocked him down and taken two of his fingers before he knew what was happening.

“My lord father taught me it was death to bear steel against your liege lord, or his sister, as it were,” she said, voice even despite the rage simmering beneath the surface of her skin. “Doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me.”

No one laughed.

“Your meat,” the Greatjon gestured to his mangled hand. “Is _bloody_ tough!”

He threw his head back and let out a roar, and soon everyone else in the hall was laughing along with him.

Smalljon winked at her, and she had a feeling she had just passed some sort of test.

Suddenly, the doors to the hall were thrown open, and in strode a figure dressed head to toe in black, a Valyrian sword with a white wolf’s head hanging from his hip.

Rowan straightened, the smile slowly easing off her face.

“Jon.”

He nodded gruffly, eyes dancing over each and every person in the hall. Then he turned to Rowan, and the corner of his lips quirked.

“If that raven arrived a day later, I’d be a brother of the Night’s Watch, and you’d be one brother short.”

The Greatjon strutted over and slapped him on the back. “Thank the gods for that bloody raven, boy, and your sister, too! She’s a heart fiercer than any wolf. Pity it’ll go to some poncy southern lordling. My boy’s been groveling at her feet for years.”

Smalljon ducked his head and blushed, but Jon’s face became somber.

“Aye, m’lord. A pity.”

Rowen didn't frown, though she very much wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many jons jfc


End file.
